This Time
by Shayafeathers
Summary: Hazel lives the life of a bounty hunter, which undoubtedly means she finds a treasure lost to time. By setting her sights on the treasure, Hazel finds herself hurled into a feud between the Universe and one single man, the Doctor. Virtually powerless, the Doctor must only rely upon his cunning mind to keep a war from breaking out between him and everyone else.
1. Prologue

In a small village on the planet of Wimble, many of its inhabitants were genuinely surprised to find a blue box parked at the edge of town. Many tried to ignore it; it was from Earth, and from the title, "Public Police Call Box", it was to not be messed with.

It was easy to ignore the phenomena in the beginning. Only when the young man stepped through the doors did the town become interested. He carried armfuls of strange contraptions and devices from the box to an old, shabby shack distanced from town. There was an air about the man. He seemed to ignore their curiosity, and it was for that reason that many of the elders told the children to hide inside.

They hoped that he might leave in the near future, but that wishful thinking began to fade within the four weeks he remained. He hardly interacted with anyone; he only ever came into town to fetch a small supply of tea and technical nonsense.

Everyone of the small town knew the visitor was important and to be respected, but it never meant they welcomed him. Far from it; so long as he distanced himself from the villagers, they wouldn't tell anyone of his presence.

He was a madman and the villagers knew better than to let the stranger into their homes.

Mary Lou decided that it was unkind to ignore the man, even if he showed that he didn't want their company, but no one knew his name.

Against the elders' wishes, she took her son with her. Alfred was the age of nine and he hadn't stopped asking about the visitor, so Mary Lou had no choice but to bring him along.

They prepared a basket of pastries, Wimbly's best product. Everyone came from around the world to the small village just to have a sample of her pride and joy.

Mother and son walked hand-in-hand to the shack. Mary Lou took in the strange sight. The blue box was settled off to the side while the ground surrounding the shack was barren of any plants.

Mary raised her hand and knocked against the wood. She waited a moment as she smiled down at Alfred. His gaze was on the door, but there was hardly a creak coming from inside, so she knocked again.

A few seconds passed before doors on the side of the blue box opened. The man stepped out, all the while closing the doors behind him. His hair was messily combed to form a flopped wave to the right of his face, just over his eye. His square jaw was set in a clench. He didn't seem to notice them, for his gaze was on the ground as he muttered under his breath.

Mary coughed softly, instantly bringing his gaze up to her, at her son, then to the box.

The people of their small town were always joyous and bubbly. They had never experienced such coldness from anyone as the man's eyes showed. Mary Lou placed her hand on Alfred's shoulder as the man approached the door to the shack.

"Go away," he called over to them and opened the door.

Mary blinked at the demand. She hadn't even said anything to him and he was already showing hostility.

"Sir, we made you this," Alfred spoke up next to her, and she didn't hesitate to let her son take the basket from her and hold it out to the man. He stopped as he turned a little to them. His gaze was on the basket.

He seemed unsure as Mary's son held it out for the man. He reached out slightly as he brought his gaze back to her. He gently took the basket as he glanced at the shack. She waited for him to say something (other than "go away").

"Do… you want to… come inside?" He asked as he pushed the door open and stepped aside.

Alfred looked up at her pleadingly. She supposed it would be alright to accept his invitation. She knew her husband would become worried about her if she stayed too long inside his, well, _house_. If the man were to do something, her husband would come around in an hour to see if everything was in order. She nodded at her son.

Before Mary could even blink, her son had hurried inside the shack. She sent the man a smile and stepped inside as well.

The small space was crowded with wires and strange monitors. There was hardly any place to fit a bed, let alone a cabinet. She watched as he moved to a strange, black box and moved it off the chair.

"You're welcome to sit," he said as he balanced the box and basket in his grip. She didn't hesitate to take his offer Mary watched as he set the box in an empty space in the corner and set the basket on top of it.

He reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a strange device. Alfred came over to the man as he kneeled down in front of a set of wires and the device whirred loudly.

"What's that?" Alfred asked.

The man paused as he considered the strange device in his hand. He looked back up at Alfred.

"My sonic screwdriver," he said.

Mary leaned forward a little when the man held the sonic screwdriver out to her son. Alfred took it and inspected the device.

"What's your name?" She asked.

He turned his gaze to her a little. He was silent as he looked over to the doors for a moment.

"The Doctor," he said.

"What brings you here, Doctor?" Mary asked. She knew that being called a doctor was not a name, but they had visitors who passed through their town and many had strange names, so why question his?

There was something strange in the glint of his eyes. She couldn't name it, but it almost seemed to be… dread, insecurity.

"It hardly matters," He said as he waved her off and snatched his sonic screwdriver from her son, "But I have important issues to attend to, so if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to get back to this."

Mary stayed in place, unsure if this meant it was time for her and Alfred to leave. After a few minutes of continuing his work, the Doctor sent them a glare. Mary quickly took Alfred's hand and led him back outside.

Days passed and the Doctor still remained. Mary returned each day at the same time with small gift and her son. The second day the Doctor was inside the shack and he invited them in again, but he never said a word; he didn't even ask for their name. Mary hardly got a goodbye out of the man when they left his home.

In the days that followed, she didn't see him again. The elders of the town soon denied his existence, especially when the intergalactic police ships began to enter inside Wimble's atmosphere. The blue box was gone and it seemed as if the Doctor hadn't ever stepped foot in their town at all.

Mary sent Alfred with a small supply of tea bags. She didn't expect any success for Alfred, but she hadn't seen the Doctor retrieve some from the local store, so there was a small glimmer of hope.

Half an hour had passed, which led her to believe that Alfred was finally able to make contact with the Doctor. A smile overtook her features as she watered her small garden.

It was then that she heard the sirens exploding high above her. She let the water canteen fall from her hands as she broke out into a fast-paced run to the small shack.

Her mother instincts kicked in as she took in the sight of the Doctor standing over her crumbled child. His arms were outstretched as he looked down at the boy below him.

She ignored whatever his features may hold. She pushed him away and took her son into her arms. He had been shot. She didn't bother to see if the Doctor had a gun with him because no matter what, _he_ killed her child. There was no one else in the town that would.

"This has to end."

She barely caught the mutter, but when she looked up, he was placing a strange necklace around his neck, all the while pointing the sonic screwdriver at a monitor with a timer counting down in a strange numerical system.

"What are you doing?" She asked through her tears.

Mary knew she should make the man pay for what he had done to her child, but she had to know what needed to end.

He kneeled before her, cupping her child's face in his hands. She glared at him, but didn't stop the Doctor.

"You only have moments to live. Remember the best."

She turned her gaze to the monitor. That was a _bomb_?

"Why?" She asked. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm saving you."

The Doctor removed his hands from her child. He was reaching for the metal piece hanging off the necklace, but the doors to the shack exploded open. A soldier appeared through the wreckage.

She shielded her child, even if there was no need to. There was a flash of light and, when she turned back to look at the Doctor, they were both gone.

She held Alfred to her and cursed the Doctor's name for killing her child. The monitor beeped and they erupted into flames as the planet cracked and imploded.

_Well... I'm not entirely sure what to think, truthfully. I can only really explain myself, so explain myself I shall. I've been writing a Doctor Who series for someone I know; she's never seen the show but she knows about it. I've written a series of one-shots for her that center around the Ponds' time in Season 7 Part 1. I've also written three short stories for her. And so, in those stories, the Doctor's character sort of developed into a darker tone, but the first story wasn't all that well done. It was written before Victorian Clara appeared on TV and I was hurrying to get that done (it was about her). So basically this story just manages to leave out Clara altogether, which takes a lot more explaining. I don't have anything against her, but let's just say she left a while ago and I don't want to write two versions of this fanfic. Like I said, I wrote other stories, and this is a semi-sequel to those, but I'm hoping, seriously hoping, that I can manage to leave out any references from those stories._

_I may or may not change the title. I haven't decided yet. I don't own anything recognizable; I'm hoping it won't be, because I want to stay as original as I can._

_-Shayafeathers_


	2. Chapter 1

Cleaning detergent. It smelled like cleaning detergent. Of course, that was what he first sensed – smelled. He then realized his eyes were closed, and if he were to open them, he would be blinded by a bright light. Best not for the time being.

This was important to the Doctor because his ship never had the smell of cleaning detergent (it was starting to lose the Gallifreyen smell and take on a more human scent) and he never had bright lights if he could help it.

He was lying down on a hard surface. Maybe it was the floor, or a table. He barely lifted his arm. No restraints. Well, this certainly left the Doctor stumped. Still, the question remained, was he on the floor or on a table?

It was obvious that he'd been drugged and kidnapped. Why, how, when, and where, he didn't know. He hardly remembered any of the events before getting drugged (he had to assume that was what had happened). He just knew that he needed to congratulate the masterminds.

The Doctor tilted his head to the side, just barely, for he heard static in the corner of the room.

"I see you're awake." It was a man's voice. Whether he was human or not, he didn't know. The accent wasn't from 21st century Earth, but plenty of alien species sounded human. He paused and considered the language. It was a style of the English language, which meant, yes, they were on Earth, or a human colony in a different solar system.

"What," he paused to lick his lips; his voice was thick, "What year is this?"

There was a long pause, which gave the Doctor enough time to swallow. He could wait patiently. He still didn't know what the room (he had to assume it was a room) looked like; he couldn't plan an escape yet.

"It's 5212."

So they were human. He didn't know if that was good turn of events or not, for he had a vague idea that there was something wrong.

Well, that was ignoring that whoever this person was knew who he was and that they were even capable to render the Doctor defenseless.

What disturbed him was that a human knew about him. How, he didn't know, but he hoped that this was only Kate Stewart playing a cruel joke on him. She would never dare do that to him and he knew it.

"Where's my ship?"

Her presence was missing from his consciousness and he didn't realize how quiet it could really be without the TARDIS. It also made it slightly difficult to understand the man. Even though the Doctor _did_ speak every language, he'd gotten used to the TARDIS Matrix translating all of the languages (that did not include Gallifreyen).

"We have it procured," came the man's response.

These people were capable, not that he was entirely impressed, but he acknowledged their skills. They were cutting off their psychic link, which only could be accomplished by a large distance or quite advanced technology.

The Doctor groaned when he felt the cloudiness leave his mind and a headache take its place. He rubbed his forehand and ran a hand over his beard. The Doctor paused at this as he ran his other hand over the hair again. A _beard_? How _long_ had he been here for? He didn't bother to ask the question, for he knew it had been over a few months.

Now they had his attention. Whoever they were knew exactly what they were doing, which sent dread down to the pit of his stomach.

"We feel it a necessity to clarify our information we have here. Feel free to correct us at any time," The man said.

The Doctor clenched his fists as he waited for the man to speak again.

"You're rank is a doctor-"

He had hardly begun and he was already making mistakes.

"My name is the Doctor and it's not a rank," He snapped.

Maybe it wasn't intended to be offensive, but it was demeaning to call his name a rank, especially when he never _was_ a doctor during his times spent on Gallifrey (the Time War proved that).

"Well, what are you, then?"

He hardly missed a beat, "Just a traveller."

There was a long pause, which the Doctor took the chance to blink his eyes a little. He winced as the light blurred his vision.

"You're from the planet Gallifrey and you're the last survivor of the Time War."

The Doctor didn't bother to respond, for he was more preoccupied with adjusting to the light and considering their words. Well, there were certainly other survivors who'd suffered from the War, but he didn't bother to tell them this. They already knew quite a lot for being human.

The Doctor remained on the ground, for his joints ached from lack of use. What was the point for keeping him locked up for so long? He was hardly in any state to attempt an escape. There had to be a reason to keep him trapped, but he was almost too wary. Almost.

"Why'm I here?" He muttered his question as the pounding in his head increased. Whatever they had given him was not TimeLord-friendly.

"We needed the perfect weapon."

The Doctor's body locked in place at those words. A… _weapon_. They wanted a _weapon_ – a _TimeLord_ _weapon_.

"Many have tried before you," He said as he closed his eyes again. He let out a soft moan and pressed his knuckles against his temple.

Was it a lie? Yes and no. Only the TimeLords ever dared to control the Doctor. Now that the TimeLords were gone, he couldn't remember anyone who ever tried before.

He hadn't heard them, he only felt their grips on his arms and shoulders as they lifted him off the ground. He paused. Who were _they_?

He blinked his eyes open to take in the sight of the men dressed in white attires.

He knew he should have been tricking his way out of this situation; he should have been running back to the TARDIS, but his body was unbelievably achy and his head throbbed constantly.

What had they done to him?

The men were dragging the Doctor from his original spot; he had to assume they were leaving the room.

The Doctor let his head dip forward so that his chin pressed against his chest. He wished the pain would go away. It was messing with his thoughts, which disabled him from being able to formulate a plan. That was not good.

He realized, moments later, that he was being pushed down on a cold, flat surface. He let his head drop back and took a deep breath in as he felt metal bands constrict his ankles and wrists. He bit his lip and squinted his eyes in attempt to be rid of the aching pain. He let his mind drift away and his thoughts disappear as sleep washed over his body.

_A/N: Well, that wasn't as long as I'd hoped. Oh well. I promise the chapters will be longer; I'm just having a difficult time establishing how this will all be set up. Usually when I finish a chapter, I have someone who reads over it to make sure that it's well-written and expanded well. So… Reviews are appreciated, and maybe, hopefully, a few friendly tips? I'm actually kind of nervous about this fanfic, so reviews would be totally helpful._

_-Shayafeathers_


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